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Monthly Archives: June 2016

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Falling from the sky, it ricocheted off a leaf and landed on the curb along 67th street. The impact with the concrete split the drop in three. The biggest one began to slide down into a gutter, joining trillions of other drops to form a powerful stream, from an ant’s perspective at least. Picking up pace, the drop flowed with the stream all the way downtown to 16th street. Just before the Big Gutter on the corner of 12th street and Mahfouz Avenue, the drop collided with something. In the world above, a man yelled, “Ah! I stepped in the gutter and my new loafers are soaked! Hurry, hail that cab!” The drop found itself, and thousands of over drops, stuck in a velvet material. Some drops found their way to the interior of shoe and onto other fabrics, while this drop and others remained on the outside, idle. An hour later, the drop began to split once more, this time into zillions of microscopic drops. The largest of these found itself so light that it floated in the air and followed the breeze out the window. It found itself in the atmosphere once more, idle until the world around it carries it along.

He was deprived of everything he held dear. Deprived of hugs, deprived of love. Deprived of smiles, deprived of beauty. Deprived of criticism, deprived of challenge. Deprived of light, deprived of wonder. It was his own wish. He deprived himself of it all so that he can become empty. He focused on his breath.

High noon approached and the young gentleman made his way to the gymnasium. He arrived twenty minutes before his coach, ample time to warm up and get in uniform. “Ahoy! The moment is fast arriving!” the coach boasted as he arrived with his clipboards and notebooks that contain within them generations of strategy. He was training the heir to the Family throne. A legacy of high-sportsmanship from generations of Sirs and Knights. The pair immediately undertook their pre-match routine. Moments later, another young man and his coach entered the gym. They were of modest means, apparent by their ragged clothing and rusty equipment. Immediately, they left their opponents and prepared for the duel in a different room. Finally, the main auditorium was ready for the match: the referee called the duelers to enter and their respective family and friends filled the stands – one side noble, the other common. The first round of the annual fencing competition was underway.

He took the stage with his mic, and began to speak and sing in a style unfamiliar to the residents of the western side of the wall. It took him four and a half hours to arrive from the eastern part of the divided city. Although his destination is only 4 kilometers away, the checkpoints added painstakingly long periods of suspicion, humiliation, and tests of pride and patience. When finally being deemed safe enough to mingle with the Others in the Chosen side of the city, he proceeded to Mizrahi’s Tavern where he was scheduled to perform in front of the cosmopolitan clientele, many of whom have only heard stories on what happens in the eastern side. He stepped on the stage and met the eyes of his audience before closing his own. He grabbed the microphone with a sense of purpose and let his voice connect his soul to those who heard him. Only twenty minutes later, the MC entered the stage and took the mic. Riding the raucous applause from the soul-shook audience, the MC shouted into the mic: “Give it up one more time for our Brother from across the wall, The Prophecy!“.

A voyage in liminality unfolds the possibilities of a dream. Foundations drift from the solid ground. Traditions mingle in an existential expo. Brown becomes red, black turns into blue, and yellow splits into purple and gold. The puzzle pieces are malleable to your artistic creation. Pressure makes for the purgatory while conviction makes for the dream. This voyage may yield either destination.

I didn’t think anyone could do it. I knew it was possible, as possible as a miracle is. Then it happened, just like that. Someone did it. I was awestruck. My realism was shattered. The laws of nature seemed upended. How? The answer is easy. I never thought a human being’s will could be so strong.

A joyous gathering must have taken place here. Walking in an hour too late, not a person was in sight. The garden lights were still on: flames flickering in the summer night. Chairs were scattered around each table, remnants of guests intermingling at length. This wasn’t a party of small talk, but one where chic men and women conversed at length. Empty dessert plates, wine glasses and scrunched handkerchiefs were scattered around the bouquets atop each table. The band must have been stationed off to the side but in plain view. Sheets of notes remained on the stands, each page slowly flapping up then down with the light breeze. An aura of sophistication filled the empty garden.

A companion is like a drug. A treatment from the ills of solitude. The effects are enriching: laughter, emotional security, physical play, intellectual stimulation, social affirmation, constructive criticism. Doses may vary. A cure, on the other hand, is ultimately self-reliant.

We the people, in order to create a more perfect union… Perfection is enemy of progress. Don’t be perfect, be more perfect. Hence the moral arc of justice, the pursuit of happiness, and the carrying forward of virtues from one generation to the next.